On our bodies we share the same scar
by Emerald-Water
Summary: Just a short one-shot... Dean sees red the moment he kicks down that door, smells the blood, the pain and the fear. Protective!Hurt!Dean, Hurt!Limp!Sam... enjoy!


This is simple, easy, nothing special.

I listened to "Wire to Wire" and their line "on our bodies we share the same scar" just didn't let me go again.

I hope you enjoy the read... and if the line starts to keep you preoccupied and you need to write a story... DO IT! And let me know! Because I wanna read the outcome!!!

Thanks Soncnica for betaing! *hugs*

Now, enjoy! - hopefully!!! ;)

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**On our bodies we share the same scar**

Everything's tinted in red. A red haze that possesses him the moment he kicks down that door, smells the blood, the pain, the fear.

Although the rage is almost too much to bear now, he's cautious as he walks down the stair-case, gun drawn, listening for something, anything. A small, heart-breaking whimper confirms that something or someone is down there and hope flares in his chest as the sound makes him forget all precaution. He races down the last few steps, looking around the poorly lit room, his eyes widen as they come to a rest on the figure up at the far wall and his breath hitches as he sees him.

He's bound hands high above his head, attached to a meat-hook with his head hanging. The smell of blood and disease is almost overwhelming now.

His hand holding the gun shakes slightly as he slowly drops it, lifting his shirt to tuck it in the waistband of his jeans while he hesitantly walks over to the bound man. Another whimper makes him swallow hard and it takes all the strength he has left to call out his name.

„Sammy..." it's barely a whisper, but the moment the word left his lips is true.

He's there now, right in front of his brother, only two steps away and his hands hover over Sam's body, afraid to touch, afraid to feel.

Sam seems oddly unharmed, but when he takes that last step, the one that is preventing him a touch, a squelching sound freezes him and he swallows hard looking down on the floor and sees the dark, glistening fluid. For a moment he has to fight to keep the bile down.

Incredibly carefully his trembling hands reach out and come in contact with his brother's cold cheek. He feels him flinch away from the touch, groans at the movement and then dull and pain-filled eyes lift to meet his, trying to focus and finally recognition floods them, draining away some of the dullness.

Sam's lips move without a sound and he strains his ears, trying to catch the word his brother is trying to say, his head bending slightly as his ear almost touches his brother's lips.

„...back..." and his brain needs a second to process the information. The moment the word is digested, he feels the fine hair on his neck raise and his hand makes an attempt to draw his gun again. But a huge paw encircles him from behind, uses the moment of surprise to rip him back and away from his brother and the world explodes into hot-white pain as something pierces the skin on his back, slips deeper, embeds itself between his ribs and... back is the red-haze. Stronger this time and he allows himself to be carried away, because now…this is a fight for his life and the life of his brother.

His arm smashes back and up, and he hears a sickening crunch followed by an angry growl but he doesn't wait for his fiend to recover. He pushes forward and feels the claw embedded in his flesh move out, looses the ability to breathe for a few moments as the pain, hot and white, flows through him again. His vision swims as he frantically and with nimble fingers draws his gun out again only to feel it being ripped from his grasp and fly through the dark cellar as it is kicked from his hands and the creature attacks again. He sees it coming with bloody claws, its eyes glowing eerily in rage and another flood of red takes him with it as adrenaline pumps through his system, makes him forget the pain in his back as he bends in one swift and graceful movement, retrieves the silver hunting-knife hidden beneath denim and stands again.

The creature is there then, embracing him and digging his claws into the tender skin of his back again. He uses all his strength and pushes backwards, arches his back as he feels the pointy talons slip deeper, forced in his flesh by himself. With the knife in position he pushes forward again, releases the pressure of the claws, allows himself to be drawn into the embrace and the creature starts screeching.  
He smiles against its rotten flesh as he feels the claws withdraw and moves the knife upwards, feels blood oozing over him from the wound he creates. The creature tries to move away from him and the pain, but this time it is him who embraces the foul being. His nostrils fill with the smell of burning flesh, as the silver knife still embedded deep in his foe's body works its magic.  
He feels the heat starting to grow as the creature grows weak and its evil nature drains through the deep gaping wound. With one final push upwards he hits the place where the heart of the monster is and a feeble – almost sighing – sound escapes the lips of the dying creature, followed by dark glistening blood and he pushes it away from him, listening to the hollow thumb as it lands on the ground a few feet away and smolders there.

The smell of burning flesh spreads in the small cellar and Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks down at the killed son of a bitch, drenched in the creatures blood his knife still clutched tightly in his other hand.

Stumbling over to his little brother, he feels the red haze lifting, feels the aches in his back coming back, feels the anguish for Sam's return. He's limping, ignoring the squelching sound as his feet step into the half-dried blood on the ground, feels Sam flinch away from his touch again. He prepares himself, his arm wrapping around Sam's middle, feels the wet, sticky shirt on his brothers back as Sam's head raises and looks at him. A dimple, pain-filled smile brightens up his features for a moment, before he slumps forward, his head coming to rest on Dean's shoulder, reminding him of the small brother he sometimes carried from the car to whatever crappy motel-room they arrived at late at night.

Warmth spreads, as he reaches up with the hand that clutches the hunting-knife and works carefully through the rope.

Sam slumps forward, free of his bondage and he staggers under the weight.

No. It wasn't time for resting, yet. Heaving his brother up, his hurt muscles began screaming at the rough treatment.  
But this was his burden. This was his... life. A small sob escapes him as his mind contemplates for a moment the „what if's" but he swallows them down, concentrates instead on the task at hand. Out of this frigging, stinking cellar. He has to check Sam out. One step in front of the other. One step further with each movement of his feet.

The moment he left the cellar, the moment he kicked open the door and walked out of there everything grew hazy.

He only remembers that suddenly everyone's attention was drawn to him and his brother and that robbed him of his last strength. Stumbling one last step away from the run-down house he fell to his knees, Sam sliding out of his grasp and then...

_... he watches Sam's back as he sleeps, seeing the scar there, stalk-white against the tanned skin. Gently his fingers touch his back, touching the identical twin on his body... their bodies share the same scar._

_END_

_Like it? Hate it? Crap? Let me know!_


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